The Lay of Alasseon and Ristare
by E.Telcontar
Summary: When Ristare, Princess of Gondor, runs away from home in the guise of a merchant and meets Alasseon, Prince of Lorien, her whole life begins to change...


The Lay of Alasseon and Ristare  
  
CHAPTER ONE  
  
It was a day of mourning in the kingdoms of Men. Eldarion, son of Elessar Telcontar, High King of Gondor and Arnor, had passed on. In Gondor, the people were subdued, often turning away to weep. Eldarion had been a good king, like his father before him and had been loved by all. Kings and messengers from distant realms poured into the White City, bringing with them messages of consolation and hope. A bell chimed in the highest tower of the Church of Gondor, a deep mournful note. The standard of Gondor fluttered out at half-mast from the palace buttresses, in the memory of the dead king.  
  
Ristare Lossefalme stared moodily out of the window in her mother's room, watching a bird execute faultless barrel rolls in the air. She wanted that bird's freedom, she felt as if she was suffocating in the soft voices and downcast eyes of the palace. Her lip curled in scorn as she noticed another carriage carrying another corpulent king rolled up the carriageway.  
  
"Ristare, get away from the window darling. We have to go receive the guests." A woman entered the room, dressed in a dark grey silk gown embroidered with pearls. The golden crown that nestled in her raven hair identified her as Aurora, High Queen of Gondor and Arnor, wife of Eldarion. Her face, which in normal circumstances would have been pretty, was lined with sadness and her dark eyes, whose sparkle had first attracted her late husband's attention, were sombre.  
  
"I could care less." Ristare didn't move. She watched the bird intently.  
  
Aurora looked at her daughter's profile in minor consternation. Ever since the day Eldarion had died, Ristare had withdrawn into a protective shell, refusing to talk to anyone, sitting quietly in some corner of the castle alone. "Please Ristare, don't misbehave. Your presence is necessary."  
  
Ristare turned away from the window. She was an astonishingly beautiful girl. Flaxen hair that shone in the sun hung down her back like a sheet, outlining her delicate face. Clear grey eyes looked out fearlessly upon the world, a hundred moods swinging through them. Delicately built and tall, she resembled her grandfather in her speech and actions. These grey eyes looked squarely into her mothers, devoid of all expression. " No. I don't care. Tirnion will be there, wont he? His presence is required, not mine." Shaking the skirts of her severe georgette gown, Ristare made as if to leave the room.  
  
"Ristare, don't make this any harder than it already is." Aurora's voice trembled slightly. "Its bad enough that your father is dead, but to have you fighting me is something I cannot handle."  
  
Her daughter walked towards the door. As she rested her hand on the handle, she looked back with a faint smile. "I'm sorry, mother. I just don't want to meet anyone right now. It's a hard time for me too." Smiling lovingly at Aurora, she left, closing the door softly behind her. Outside, she took a deep breath. She had made up her mind.  
  
CHAPTER TWO  
  
Lassus Ferdinard was not having a good evening. His wagons had not been loaded, a shipment of supplies had not arrived, the pub was out of his favorite draught and now, to top it all off, it was raining. In these sorts of situations, he found much relief in yelling and shouting at the people around him. And that was exactly what he was doing. He raved and ranted at his underlings, spitting out curses. He cursed them, he cursed the supplies that hadn't come, he cursed at the pub and he cursed at the rain. It was at this time that a heavily cloaked figure came up to him. "Lassus Ferdinard?" It was a soft, husky voice. Lassus squinted at the figure. The heavy frieze cloak had been pulled tightly around the person and a hood was pulled low over the eyes. "Yes?" " I heard that you're going north-west towards Rohan." "Yeah, so?" "Would be alright if I joined your company?" Lassus's pig eyes narrowed shrewdly. "And what would I get for this ride?" The figure removed a small leather bag from its person and handed it over. There was a musical clink as Lassus shook it. " 20 gold pieces." Lassus pocketed the bag. "Alright. You can come along. Is it just you or are there others? The fee goes up, you know." "Its just me and my horse. Our fee is covered in that bag." Lassus opened his mouth as if he was going to protest, but the person had already turned away. Muttering about being used, he returned to yelling at his crew. "What time do you leave?" " In an hour." "I'll be here." "Hey, wait!" Lassus jogged up, puffing. " What's your name?" The person looked down at the ground, considering. " You may call me Mercas."  
  
True to his word, Mercas appeared in an hour's time, riding a magnificent black stallion. He trotted up to Lassus and tapped him on his shoulder. "Are we ready to go?" Lassus started, swivelling around. Seeing the now-familiar cloaked figure, he relaxed and gave an oily smile. "Yes, yes. We were just waiting for you to come. But now that you're here, we'll leave at once." The company moved off slowly through the streets, the wagons creaking and groaning under the weight of their cargo. Lassus rode up front on a seedy looking bay, Mercas riding beside him. The guards at the gates gave the wagons only the briefest of glances, waving them through. The check-posts at the border of the city were a little more cautious. An armed soldier waved them onto the side of the way and rode up to Lassus. "Hail, neighbour!" Lassus gave his oily smile. The soldier merely nodded curtly to this friendly greeting. " Where are you going?" "To the realm of the horse-lords." Lassus took out a soiled piece of paper. "Rohan." He added to make it clear to the soldier. "Tis a shipment of Gondor's choicest carpets and rugs. They are in great demand, you know." The soldier grunted. " Well, your papers seem to be in order." A cursory glance was sent over Mercas and the crew. " Are all of these people part of your crew?" "Indeed they are. Why, this man," he singled out Mercas "is my right-hand man. Without him, I would probably be lying on the floor of some tavern." The soldier's face relaxed into a knowing grin. Obviously, he had had some experiences of this type. " You're free to go. Fare thee well." Lassus moved his horse forward. " Good luck to you, neighbour! May you find the warm innards of a tavern soon!"  
  
They continued down the road in silence. The rain hadn't shown any sign of letting up and the sky was growling away. Lassus squinted up and sighed. " The rain-gods favour the farmers, never the merchants." Mercas gave a small laugh. Lassus stole a look at him. He was a mysterious fellow. Five hours into the journey, the man had barely spoken ten sentences. And what was this business of getting out of the kingdom anyways? Obviously was in trouble of some sort. Mercas spoke suddenly. " I'm not a murderer you know. I'm quite harmless." Lassus blushed. "I meant no harm, young sir. Its just that you're one mysterious fellow and." " Its better if it stays that way. I'm not a murderer, but I am trying to leave certain problems.and people.behind." "So where are you headed to?" Lassus opened up the conversation again. " Staying in Rohan or going beyond?" "To tell you the truth, I don't really know," said Mercas. "I want to see the world, and find adventure, so lets see what happens." "Must be big problems you're running away from," said Lassus, with a flash of insight. Mercas gave a hollow laugh. "You have no idea." They came to a small town some 20 leagues from Minas Tirith, Barkhar it was called. There they stopped for the night, at the inn where, said Lassus confidingly to Mercas, they served the best ale in all of Northern Gondor.  
  
CHAPTER THREE  
  
The inn was extremely crowded and pipe-smoke hung thick in the air. The smell of beer and unwashed bodies mingled together to come up with a peculiar stench that made one gag. Several tables hailed Lassus cheerfully, inviting him to come sit with them. At the end of the Third Age, when the Wars of the Ring had finally ended, and a king had returned to Gondor, Barkhar had gone from being a tiny farming village to a major trading post. Traders and travellers from all over Middle-Earth going to Gondor and its surrounding realms, or leaving them, invariably stopped at the Tumbling Tumblers Inn, which served "the best ale in Northern Gondor". Lassus manoeuvred his way towards a table near a window, indicating Mercas to follow. At the table sat one large man with a large face and piggy eyes, surrounded by smaller men with ferret eyes. "Lassus, you old dog!" roared the large man, his four chins wobbling. Lassus pulled up a chair and grinned. "Hello Horace old boy! How is it with you?" "Bad, my friend," Horace shook his head. "Bad. The government will kill me with their tax rates and the market for furs has gone down, as it is." He sighed heavily. " And yet you live the life of a king." Lassus flashed Horace another grin. "By the way, meet a friend of mine. Mercas something-or-the-other. I'm giving him a lift to Rohan." Horace wagged his face at Mercas, staring curiously at the hood that remained over his head. "How d'you do.any friend of Lassus is a friend of mine, I always say." Mercas was to learn that Horace always had something to say. "Heard the latest news from Gondor?" Horace turned his piggy eyes back at Lassus. "No, what?" Lassus waved to the waiter. " The princess is gone. Ristare I think.the eldest one at any rate. They say there's absolute mayhem in Gondor at the moment, what with the Queen fainting and crying at the drop of a hat, the guards of the Tower tearing the place apart and the Crown Prince sending off search parties in every direction." "Gone?" Lassus raised a lazy eyebrow. "Gone as in run away, or gone as in kidnapped." Horace leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "They say it's a kidnapping, but the truth of the matter is that the girl's run away." "Now, why would she do that?" "That I don't know. However, thanks to all of this, all the routes are swarming with the army." "Which," said Lassus dryly, "must be affecting your earnings." Horace shrugged. "Business is business, my friend. I have my own ways." "Spare me." Lassus smiled at the waiter who had just arrived. "Three pints of your finest ale.and put it on this gentleman's bill." He nodded towards Horace. "That was uncalled for." Horace said feelingly. "Think back to Bree, old friend." Lassus grinned. The two plunged into nostalgic reminiscences, arguing friendlily. Mercas stopped listening after the second story. He sat back in his seat and let his gaze wander from under his thick hood. It fell on Men from all over the world, jabbering away in strange tongues to each other. It fell on small stout men with broad belts and long beards, counting piles of gold and sending evil glances at anyone who approached them with a hopeful smile. He saw tiny little folk sitting at tables piled with (now) empty dishes, smoking long pipes. There were a few oddballs who sat either in groups of two or alone, dressed in mud-splattered clothes.some travellers, Mercas guessed. A few voices suddenly rose up in song. Swivelling in his seat, Mercas saw some young men sitting in one part of the inn. Their faces were fair and blessed with ageless wisdom. Elf-children, he thought. One elf caught his hidden gaze. He was sitting apart from the others, as if he was not a member of their party. A wicked looking sword lay on the table in front of him. He looked older than the other elves there. Dark hair fell untidily over his forehead, giving him a boyish appearance. Though extremely handsome, his face had some grim lines, making him appear stern. This sternness was belied by his vivid green eyes, which looked about him humorously. He stared at Mercas, his eyes narrowed. Looking away, Mercas turned back to see the beer being placed on the table. " Drink up, Mercas friend!" cried Lassus. "This will be a beer to remember!" "Err.no. No thank you. I'm not much of a drinker." Mercas pushed the glass away, only to have it firmly put in his hand. "It doesn't matter here, young man!" a bleary-eyed Horace peered at him. " All of here are either drunk or on our way to being drunk!" Mercas smiled uncomfortably at the two men with him. He looked down at the amber liquid. It winked back at him, yellow lights dancing in it. Taking a deep breath, he grasped the glass and lifted it to his lips.  
  
CHAPTER FOUR  
  
" Glorfin?! Is that you?!" A hearty voice exclaimed from behind Mercas. An equally hearty thump was dealt to Mercas' back, leaving him choking and spluttering his first sip of ale. Lassus and Horace, who had already progressed far into their drinks, squinted up at the source of this hearty voice. Seeing not too clearly, they squinted at Mercas questioningly. "That's not Glorfin, neighbour," slurred Lassus. 'That's my friend, Mercas." Mercas sat and stared up at the newcomer silently. It was the elf who he had seen sitting in the other corner of the room. The dark hair was falling even more untidily over his forehead and his eyes sparkled with sheer joy at the meeting. "You scoundrel!" laughed the elf. "What on earth have you done now that you had to change your name?" Mercas stirred slightly. " Just the regular things.nothing too bad." "Come and join me.we'll catch up on old times." The elf pointed to his table. "That is," a quick, bright look at Horace and Lassus, " if your friends don't mind." Horace waved them away. "Go on, go on. Never brush a friend off, that's what I always say. We'll meet later on." Getting up, Mercas silently followed the elf to his table. Once they were seated, the sparkle from the elf's eyes disappeared and they became slightly hard. He looked thoughtfully at Mercas. "Who are you?" Mercas finally asked. "And why did you do that?" "The question, my elusive friend, is who are you." The elf sipped his ale, his eyes never leaving Mercas' face. "I am Mercas Tallion, a carpet dealer from Gondor. I am travelling with my employer, Lassus," he pointed to the drunk Lassus, "to the realm of Rohan to do some business." Mercas stopped. This should keep the elf happy. The elf took a reflective sip from his tankard. "A carpet dealer you say?" "Yes." " A carpet dealer with a great need for secrecy, is that not so?" "Secrecy?" Mercas shifted slightly in the chair. " One does not normally wear a thick cloak inside a warm inn, and especially, one drawn so close about him." The green eyes glittered. There was a slight pause. "The weather is unpredictable and I catch cold easily." Mercas said lamely. The elf put the tankard down and for the first time in their conversation, showed some surprise. " Is that the best excuse you could come up with?" "I beg your pardon?" stiffly said Mercas. "It was not an excuse." "Oh indeed? And I suppose it just might rain inside a building?" Mercas sprang to his feet nervously. "I will not stay here to be insulted by some busy-body who doesn't even know me." He ran out of the inn and towards the stables. Things were not going the way he wanted them to. Finding his horse, he began to saddle up. From behind, a familiar voice drawled. " Actually I know you better than you know yourself, Mercas Tallion." Mercas wheeled about. The elf from the inn was leaning casually against the stable door, watching him in a bored fashion. He fumbled under his cloak and drew out a leaf-shaped dagger. The elf threw a careless glance at the dagger. "There's no need to get violent. I mean you no harm." "Who are you and what do you want from me?" Mercas' voice quavered. " Alasseon Gilfaun, Prince of Lórien, Elf-warrior, at your service." The elf bowed mockingly at Mercas. "As for what I want from you is quite simple. I have been charged to find you and upon doing so, returning you to the bosom of your family." "I have no family. Leave me alone!" Alasseon looked at Mercas contemplating. "True. Mercas Tallion does not have a family." Mercas relaxed his grip on his dagger in relief. "Yes, I don't." "After all," he continued. "Mercas Tallion doesn't even exist." The grip tightened again. "Are you mad?? I'm standing right here in front of you!!" The elf crossed the space between them in quick steps. " But you are not Mercas Tallion." He said softly, his eyes gleaming. Mercas stared up Alasseon. He wanted to say something, but his mouth just wouldn't open. The elf gently pushed the hood covering Mercas' head back. Flaxen hair gleamed palely in the moonlight drifting in through the window, throwing the delicate face structure into relief. Ristare looked up at Alasseon, her beautiful grey eyes wide and fearful. The dagger was still in her hand, her grip on it loose. Gently, Alasseon removed it from her grasp and placed it in his belt. "No, you are not Mercas Tallion. However, I may not be wrong in saying that you are indeed Ristare Lossefalme, Princess of Gondor and Arnor." A smile crossed his handsome features. "My congratulations. You have managed to confound the entire Gondorian army and their fat generals with your swift departure from the city." Ristare licked her lips nervously. "Thank you." She said colourlessly. "You do realise that I have to take you back, don't you?" Ristare's head snapped up at this, her eyes anguished. "No! Please, don't send me back there." Alasseon frowned, not in anger, but in thought. This was strange. What on earth had happened? "Why not?" "I.I." the princess fumbled for words. Taking a deep breath, she continued in a calmer voice. " I want to get away from my father's death. I want to forget my mother's tears. I want to find adventure, not lived locked up in a castle. And most of all," here her voice rose in anger and disgust, " I don't want to be just married off to that.that horrible man!!" She looked away from that brilliant stare and sat down on some hay bales. Alasseon looked down upon her stormy face and felt a twinge within him. She reminded him of himself when he had been younger. An idea formed in his mind. This would definitely land him in the books of infamy, he thought wryly. His conscience tugged at him, but he brushed it away. Taking a deep breath, he kneeled before the princess. "Your Highness," he said formally. " I understand your sentiments completely. However I have been called upon by your brother, Crown Prince of Gondor and Arnor, to see you safely back home." He raised a finger, silencing the protests rising to her lips. " As I earlier said, I completely understand the way you feel. Your reasons for not returning are just. Therefore, I feel that I must withdraw my consent to Prince Tirnion and kidnap you, thereby providing you with adventure." Ristare stared at him in amazement. She couldn't believe her ears! The elf- lord watched her, his eyes dancing roguishly. "Kidnap me?" Ristare had difficulty putting words together. "With your permission offcourse." He added, his face absolutely straight. Ristare had a feeling this was a dream. Carefully, she reached out and prodded Alasseon's shoulder. "Ow! What d'you do that for!" Alasseon rubbed his shoulder, glaring resentfully at her. Slowly, Ristare shook her head. "I'm not dreaming, am I?" Alasseon's face split into a grin. "Not as far as I can see." He saw the look of sheer happiness spread across her face. "I should probably tell you that I'm not the angel you think me to be. You, my princess, have fallen into the company of a libertine." Ristare looked at him with shining eyes. "No, you can never be a libertine in my eyes, my lord. Indeed you are extremely noble for having helped a lady in distress." "Stuff and nonsense!" Alasseon blushed. Seeing this, Ristare laughed, the clear sound ringing throughout the stable. "I name thee, my lord, my knight and champion." She got up and curtseyed to him.  
  
Alasseon surged up, his face alarmed. "Now see here! I don't do this champion thing. Nor am I anyone's knight. I just help people out sometimes. Don't go around calling me your champion or anything or else I'll." Ristare doubled with laughter. Alasseon watched the laughing girl with misgiving. Obviously, this time he had bitten off more than he could chew. His sense of fun came to his rescue. This just might be an interesting experience..  
  
CHAPTER FIVE.  
  
"The first thing to do, is tell that Lassus that you're not going any further with him. Say you've decided to continue your journey with me." Ristare had finally stopped laughing at Alasseon. They sat on some hay bales, facing each other. Alasseon had decided that it was time that they came up with a plan of action. "Do I go as Mercas with you?" Ristare put a straw in her mouth and looked questioningly at her new friend. Alasseon toyed with the idea. "No." he said finally. "Horace was right when he said that the entire army of Gondor and Arnor was covering the roads. A carefully cloaked rider will immediately be thought suspicious. That's what caught my attention first." Ristare nodded equably. "True. I should have thought of that. Well what then? I can't go without a cloak, or else they'll recognise me." Alasseon looked at her thoughtfully. "I could pass you off as my sister. If you don't mind me disguising you that is." "Anything that gets me out of the reach of home is fine with me." She turned to her horse and began to croon softly to it. Alasseon gazed at her curiously. It was almost as if she hated her former life. He watched her pull her horse's ears and stroke the velvety black nose. "Why don't you want to go home?" he asked suddenly. Ristare looked around, surprised. "I told you why." "Not that. I want to know what you're so afraid of, back at the palace. It's not like your mother or your brothers and sisters are cruel to you. I've seen them, and heard the love in their voices when they speak of you. So what is it?" A shadow stole over Ristare's beautiful face. All at once, the sparkle in the clear grey eyes was diminished. The pretty mouth drooped slightly, giving her a poignant look. She came and sat beside Alasseon, pushing her fair hair off her face. " If this had been before my father had died, then I would have said nothing to you taking me back home. If my father hadn't died, I would have never even been here in the first place." She gave a small laugh that bordered on a sob. " My father and I were very close. I usually went to him if there was anything wrong.not my mother. Then, one day, he fell sick. He said it was because he was getting old. It wasn't that though. He had the blood of Numenor.that sort of tells you that he's going to be living for a long, long time. "It was at this time that Gondor was attacked by Merkos, a realm to the east. My father being ill, it was Tirnion who led our armies onto the battlefield. Our strength was superior; we began to gain on the mongrels from Merkos. That's when the king of Merkos approached my father." Here her voice faltered. Ristare stared at the straw covered floor, her eyes turned inwards, remembering the past. Alasseon could feel the anger and pain radiating from her. Unobtrusively, he took her hand in his. "He.offered for my hand in marriage. He said that if he were to marry me, then Merkos would draw off its armies. Father knew that Gondor was winning, yet, oddly enough, he agreed to the proposal. An agreement was drawn up and both of them signed it. None of us knew about it.Tirnion was on the battlefields along with the Lord Administrator, mother and I had gone to Ithilien to pay our respects to the Prince. By the time, we found out, it was too late to change anything. " I met with my husband-to-be as is our custom and within that very moment of greeting, I began to loathe him. He is the most pompous arrogant egoistical man I have ever laid my eyes upon. He believed himself to be a gift to womankind the world over. He was quick to inform me that he did not wish to wait for the sanctity of marriage vows, something I was just as quick to disillusion him about." Ristare looked up at Alasseon inquiringly, as he shook with silent laughter. Noticing her look, he hastened to explain. "I was just imagining what you must have done to him." "Oh. I poked him with my brooch. However, the agreement signed between my father and the King of Merkos could not be annulled and I have to marry him whether I like him or not. Shortly after this meeting, Father died and I don't think I ever understood that I'd lost him forever. I don't think I still have. Life at home became unbearable what with the weeping and hysterics. So, I decided to leave it all behind and start a new life." "So you became Mercas Tallion, carpet-dealer, and went towards Rohan." Alasseon flicked a speck of dust off his boots. "Well, not a carpet-dealer per se, but I took the guise of one." Alasseon leaned back against some bales and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. Ristare anxiously watched his face for some emotion. Feeling her gaze, he smiled down at her. "Don't worry, I'm not taking you back to Gondor. I was just trying to remember who the king of Merkos is." Ristare gave a brittle smile. " His Royal Highness, King Kartian Merkytus of Merkos." "Merkytus." Alasseon frowned slightly. "You mean to tell me that that snivelling family [I]actually[/I] made it to a throne?" The princess nodded. He whistled in disbelief. "Unbelievable! You're supposed to marry him?" She nodded again. "But you two would never deal together!!!" Alasseon closed his mouth, realising how familiar his words sounded. He began to mutter an apology, but Ristare interrupted him with clapping. "That, my lord, is exactly what I have been saying!! Nobody believes me!!" "Well, never mind. As long as you're in my company, you wont be marrying that snivelling twerp." Ristare gave him a happy smile. The elf lazily winked at her. It occurred to her that she knew next to nothing about him. " I told you about myself, but what about you? I don't know anything about you." She took out a piece of twine from her tunic pocket and tied her hair back with it. "There's not much to tell," said Alasseon. "I've already told you who I am.Alasseon Gilfaun, Prince of Lórien, Elf-warrior. I was born in the Third Age of this world, when Sauron the Dark Lord, was still in Mordor. I met your grandfather once, when I was very young. Four I think. He was an astounding man. "Anyway, on my 20th birthday, I learnt that I was to marry a rather irritating elf-maiden. Do not be fooled into thinking that all elves are blessed with wisdom. My intended bride was stupider than the stupidest Halfling. Not to mention extremely demanding!" He waited for Ristare's laughter to subside before continuing. "Well at any rate, I managed to shake her off. Devoting my time to my education, I soon became the most skilled archer of Lórien, a fine swordsman and perhaps one of the finest scholars of my time, if I may say so myself. Seeing that there was nothing left for me to do wandering through forests, I decided to see the world. " I wandered here and there.going nowhere in particular. The Dunedain, Rangers of the North, became my steadfast friends and I often helped them. I later joined these warriors going south to Gondor for battle against the Dark Lord. It was soon after that my mother left for Valinor. I wasn't tired of Middle-Earth and thus had no wish to leave with them. " So, I've just been continuing with my travels, occasionally working for someone, usually in a rather improper manner! Reliable sources have let me know that many would love to see my head decorate the stakes at their castle turrets for one reason or the other." Alasseon grinned wickedly. Ristare listened to his narrative with parted lips, her eyes shining. When he finished, she stirred slightly and said in an envying voice; "What fun you must have!" Alasseon nodded thoughtfully. "Its not always fun though. There are times that have had me quite worried." He frowned down at Ristare. "Come to think about it, it's not the sort of life you should lead. I think I'll just find a safe place to put you in till all this dies down." Ristare sprang to her feet, looking down at him in dismay. "But.but you promised!" she stammered. "You said that you would take me with you.that I'd have a taste of adventure. Oh, Alasseon you cant take it back now!" She gazed beseechingly at him, tears in her eyes. "Its not that I can't look after myself. I'm rather adept at doing so.and I'm a skilled swordswoman and I can arch and I can ride and." Ristare was silenced as Alasseon raised his hand. She stood there, mutely watching him. He was going through some inward struggle she could see. The story that the young princess had told Alasseon had had an effect. He sank deep into thought, struggling with the two alternatives in his mind. The thought of this girl going through some of his more harrowing experiences filled him with apprehension. She certainly did not fit in his lifestyle out in the open or in rowdy bars. Alasseon stole a glance at Ristare's despondent face. He saw her in Merkos, sitting beside Kartian, locked up within the walls of his moulding castle. Kartian would destroy her. He would make sure that she lived in sadness and discomfort for her life. Something inside him rebelled at the very thought of Kartian laying his hands on her. " You realise that your life would be in danger in many situations?" he finally said. "Yes." Ristare whispered the word incredulously. Alasseon sighed. "And that if anything happens to you, I'll find my head decorating a stake at the turrets of Gondor?" Ristare gaped at the elf-lord who was watching her with weary interest. "Your.your head?" she stammered. "Mmhmm." Ristare eyed him warily. "Are you laughing at me?" she asked suspiciously. Alasseon favoured her with a wide innocent look. "Who? Me? Never!" The regal chin rose up into the air. "Very well then. Put the horses to. We shall leave at once." "So you don't mind my head going up as a turret decoration?" Alasseon asked diverted Ristare smiled frostily. "Not in the least." With that, she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, turned on her heel and walked out of the stable in good order, leaving Alasseon to smile wryly at her retreating figure.  
  
CHAPTER SIX 


End file.
